


Equilibrium

by uJwArM



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 08:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21505012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uJwArM/pseuds/uJwArM
Summary: Rey is Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan is Rey.
Kudos: 19





	Equilibrium

“Do you believe in destiny?”

They sit, squatting in some bank of sand, far away from Niima Outpost, farther into the lands of the Western Reaches than either of them had ever dared to travel before. Numa and her lay beside each other, toes tucked in cool sand and a thin, oil stained blanket shared between the two, wrapped around their huddled shoulders and smarting cheeks to stave off the cold of night.

Above, hangs the universe. A star bejeweled blanket of pitless black, each light individual to itself, creating larger than life tattoos of iridescent white and twinkling light. Just barely, can she see the gauntlet of Smarrin and the blinking ring of Smarrin’s Love.

Rey believes in a lot of things.

“I do… I think,” says Numa, tugging his portion of the bedraggled quilt nearer his heart. “Fickle Brother used to talk about destiny a lot. Not like he liked it, though. I dunno why he… he always went on about it being _stupid_ and _fairytales_ \- the kind for kids, you know. Like you.”

The jest is met with a small, distracted smile.

Numa frowns, his golden eyes narrowing as they track the nubs of flesh that peek from beneath the sand. His toes wiggle.

“I like destiny. I think it’s _cool_. Fickle Brother was wrong. King Brother always said Fickle Brother was wrong. Even about destiny. I don’t think it’s weird or- or _stupid_ or- or…” His small voice fades and his face grows dark. “They were wrong. You know. About your destiny. They were _wrong_.”

Cold fingers wrap around the flustered boy’s wrist, their grip gentle but firm. It grounds the boy, lets him release a shuddering sigh and a stuttering sniffle. He looks at Rey, who does not look at him but instead, has angled her face towards the all-encompassing night sky.

Her mouth is curved in a soft smile and her eyes are far, far away, glimmering with the universe’s thousand stars.

Numa tucks himself into her side, his chin quivering and his breaths quick with the beginnings of a terrible sob.

“Sister,” he murmurs into Rey’s side, inhaling the vivid smell of must and dew and cinnamon. The brown cloth afforded to slaves is awash in her scent, and he breathes it desperately, wishing to rid himself of this terror just as she has, just as she always has. “You- you won’t die. You’re destiny’s wrong. Unkar was wrong. He was lying- he- he always lies, right sis?”

Numa is six, going on seven, and Rey is five, going on six. They are both slaves to the deserts of Jakku. Both share the burns of the sun and the scars of lashes. Rey is a child, an infant compared to Numa, who states so quite stoutly on numerous occasions. But Rey is also the calm in the storm, the rock at the center of a furious, seething river, and Numa finds comfort in that unflappable calm she so effortlessly wields.

Rey turns to him, finally.

Wisps of hair curl around her cheeks and mouth, the flyaway strands are black against the stark blue of her wide eyes. Her lips part, revealing a white set of teeth that grin at him. It looks benign and part sad, but so very kind.

Fingers that are not his curl around his shivering back and waist, petting, soothing.

“He was lying,” she says. “Always lying,” she mutters.

She settles once more against the sloping sands of the dune they are huddled beneath, pulling Numa along with her until they both lay there, embraced in the fair grains of the desert. Numa watches her, the way her face once more leaves his own, lifting to view the wide breadth of space and the way her face grows still, slackening under the brilliant light of Jakku’s vantage.

It is some many minutes, when Numa is just beginning to catch the tail threads of sleep, that she speaks, soft and warm and whispering.

“There once was a hero with no fear,” Ray murmurs, her voice a distant hum that swallows his creeping slumber.

“He won wars if he so willed it, saved planets if he so wished it, and protected the galaxy with a metal fist and a blade of blue,” she says, still whispering. “He grew tall and strong, knew all there was to know, and lended hand and foot to those in despair. He saved all, fought fair and noble, and deemed the lowest of low, a steady, graceful bow.”

Numa clutched his sister tight, curious despite his fear. “Was he real? The Hero with No Fear?”

Rey’s eyes shimmered under the stars.

“No,” she says. Her lips twist in a strange way, bitter like their foodstuff. “He was no real man. He was just a tale, horribly tall.” She looks at him, wondering. “Would you like to hear his real story?”

Numa snuggled deeper into her loose hug and gives a small, encouraging smile. “Yeah,” he says, quietly. “I want to hear it.”

Rey’s lips turn, a smile blooming across her small, thin face.

“First, then,” she says. “You’ll need to know that the Hero with No Fear had a name. And his name was Anakin Skywalker. A good, strong name. The planet from which he came was called Tatoonie. Like Jakku, it was all sand. The horizon stretched on, endless with a sea of yellow, and in its sky, hung two giant, white suns…”


End file.
